


just right now, can't think of anything better to do (except being right here with you)

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Miracrail Month [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternian Empire, Carnival, Established Relationship, Food, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, References to Drugs, Subjuggulator Gamzee Makara, Threshecutioner Karkat, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 00:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20106475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Shore leave, and there's a carnival downsurface. What else is a motherfucker to do, except hit that shit hard with his moirail.





	just right now, can't think of anything better to do (except being right here with you)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Fluff

"Brother y'ain't never gonna believe this shit, come and take a look-see," you say out loud with amazement, and beckon over your shortsome, shouty motherfucker. It's been a while since either of you were down on planet, and you're both out for a motherfucking stroll to see what this colony-ball has to offer a fine pair of motherfuckers like yourself. Somehow the ship's managed to touch down during some sort of festival, it's a god damn carnival and you are _loving_ the shit out of it. You're far from the only crew from your ship wandering in between the civilians in black and caste-coloured uniforms, but your own precious diamond is the only sporting that particular vibrant shade of miracle red. "Look, they get that hunk of carcass on a stick then they dip it in batter and fucking _fry_ the _fuck_ out of it."

"You're going to give yourself a pusherattack, the amount of shit you're willing to put in your gaping maw," Karkat grunts as he comes up beside you to watch as the seller at the stall performs a sort of acrobatic ballet with their cookery. They're putting on more of a show now you're watching, oil sizzling and sending up a smell of cooking meat and sweet dough that makes your mouth water. You swallow. "Or some sort of fucking disease. What is that, some kinda squeakbeast they're frying?"

"Oh, like you're gonna up and turn your nose up at squeakbeast on a motherfucking skewer," you scoff, once you've swallowed enough of your saliva to talk. Damn, that is smelling _so_ fucking good! But you know Karbro got more of a handle on whether things are ok or not, so you're holding back as he dissects everything with his oculars. You inhale again of the delectable motherfucking aroma wafting out from the stall as subtly as you can manage. "Remember that mission where we got fucking stranded? We ate motherfucking _anything_. Leastways, this is cooked and shit."

"Yeah, and if a subjugglator winds up puking his guts out tomorrow twilight from something he shoved down his _neverendingly_ ravenous and utterly undiscerning gullet, the admiral'll fuck this place up like a herd of beefgrubs ran through it." Karkat worries his lower lip with his jutting out top fangs, and you wait impatiently for him to make a decision. It ain't like the two of you can't afford it. What the fuck was there to really spend your money on when you were on ship anyway? So it just banked up, except for Karbro making new movie and merch purchases from time to time, or you putting in for holy motherfucking paint and gear. It's stupid to spend money on food when you can have all you want to eat on ship, being who you are and all and the colour of the swill running through your veins, but this is _different_. It's special. "...yeah, ok, I mean. It's probably fine. But if you wind up sick, don't blame me."

"Fuck, _yeah_." You pull him to your side briefly with an arm around the solidity of his waist and nuzzle at the short-shaven crop of hair he's got on top to keep his thinkpan warm, mostly to hear him squawk. "Two, motherfucker," you say to the lowblood running the stall and they grin, showing missing teeth but they don't hesitate on skewering up some meat and dragging it through the vat to coat it in whatever motherfuck kind of batter that was that was smelling so fucking delicious. 

Oil spits and sizzles, pops like bursting ballons as the skewers get shoved in deep and you fumble with your beltpouch for the local currency you'd gotten changed with the purser before you came on down. Cagey motherfucker, she. But she didn't cheat not one shipmate, as much as you knew she played hard and cruel with any ports where you came to call on imperial biznasty. A little back and forth, and you count metal shards into the calloused palm of the cook, before getting two skewers of something glistening with grease in return.

More pantomime and you nod firmly to getting the sauce that had them miming blowing and going ouch on one of the skewers, and what you recognise as honey on the other. Handing the honey one to your diamond, you get ready to stroll on. He grumbles something but sinks his teeth into the carcass on a stick and you can hear his fangs crunching through crispy batter and bone. You blow on yours a little, not wanting to burn your cool-blood tongue, before taking a bite yourself.

"Oh _sh-shit_," you choke out around a mouthful of sweetness, meat and fucking _burning_. Your eyes are tearing and you look up at the strange orange-coloured sky, waving your hand in front of your mouth like it's gonna make the chemical fire in your maw die down, and you swallow. Panting, you lick your lips then head on in for another bone-crunching bite. "Hot damn, that's fucking _tasty_, motherfucking Messiahs be blessed."

"You soporpan freak," Karkat says fondly in a way that'd have any other motherfucker calling insult, and you grin. There's grease running down your chin, and his facegash looks pretty fucking sticky too. He bumps you hard with his elbow and jerks his head to another stall, one selling some kinda drink. "C'mon, let's get something to wash it down with."

"Hell yeah, motherfucker, you got all the good ideas," you say with glee, and let him lead on.

"That's because I'm the only one with any brains between the pair of us, Gamzee, and you fucking know it."

You just laugh loud enough to get people looking at you nervously while he storms on ahead like you're an embarrassment to his entire being, because it's fucking true and underneath the ire and bile, you can hear what you know to be the one steady thing in your life. _I'm pale for you, I love you, I adore you_. He's the best thing you got, and it's gonna be one hell of a night. Setting your fangs into the remnants of the squeakbeast on a stick, you jerk your head sideways and swallow the whole thing down, walking slow and watching Karkat move through the crowd like he's on a god damn mission on his way to the drink stand. You know by the time you get there, he'll have two cups and be bitching about how long it took for you to walk up. And whatever he's picked, it'll be exactly what you would have gotten - or even better.

You're so fucking pale for this stubborn diamond of yours it fucking hurts in your pusher. But you let the thought pass in and out of your thinkpan for now; right motherfucking now, you got a carnival to do and you're gonna get every ounce of pleasure out of it that you can. And knowing you? That's a whole motherfucking lot, and Karkat's gonna hate at _least_ half of it.


End file.
